Clarifying the Work at Home Mythology

The following commentary was written by a successful author who worked at home her entire writing career.

Namaste,
Euroswydd, Reiki Clown and Mort

Clarifying the Work at Home Mythology
Let me preface the following with the allowance that while myths are generally overblown, highly romanticized depictions of an event (s) or person (s) there is basis in truth. So saying, in lieu of a boring diatribe on the demerits of romanticizing working in the home let me offer a rendering of a typical day in the life of a home worker. The reader can be the judge as to the efficacy of the myths surrounding “working at home”.

Dulcet Oriental plinking seeps into my consciousness. Momentarily baffled realization creates a pitiful bleat of protest muffled by a blanket suddenly molded to my face. Loyal spouse that I am means getting up five mornings a week before any vestige of natural solar illumination has even considered sending a scouting ray or two above the horizon. Propelling the blanket back to its side of the bed I dutifully gird myself for the always eventful breakfast ritual as it pertains to the feeding of our pets. After completion of pre, during and post breakfast chores my arm waves cheerily at the back end of the car as it chugs away.
A load of laundry churning, the cats cleaning after their second breakfast—they display Hobbit behavioral proclivities, furry feet and bottomless stomachs—the Venetian’s slats coiled against their header, grey dawning gloom sulking beyond the window panes, and a variety of miscellaneous and sundry chores completed I sit before my computer, fingers poised.
But production is not to be...either the phone service or my ISP is on the blink. Unable to go on-line the necessity of checking my e-mail and doing research for my upcoming story goads me on. After several hours, much digital manipulation accompanied by a steady stream of commentary on my part, amidst a comforting gurgling of electronic bleeps the information that “you have mail” signifies connectivity success. While fix-it downloads of digital molasses intended to do away with the interfacing issues brought about by the security measures my ISP insists upon booby trapping my computer with, the laundry has been hung, the plants dehydration issues dealt with and dust relocated. And let us not forget the cats who think they have three cat doors. The preferred two require a human’s hand to facilitate their entering or exiting.
With the approach of late morning and the dog’s signaling his need to go outside and take care of business I prepare for the daily walk. Avoiding his leaping joy my eyes cast longingly at the now hibernating computer. The hoopla having roused everyone from their morning naps the feline circle greets our return, expectations high for anticipated elevenses, or is it third breakfast or first lunch?
Once again ensconced before the computer words finally flow through my fingertips onto the digitalized “page”, maybe the day won’t be a total washout after all. Bbrrriiinnngg, announces the phone, reinforcing its message of interruption three more times before the answering machine ends the torture. I keep an ear cocked for the voice of one of the few people who I’d leave work for. Why do people think that because one works at home one is therefore available for all sorts of trivial @#$% that no one would dare call someone to discuss in a more formal working situation?
Several hundred words later and with a resounding crash the power goes out. Sun blazing in a powdery blue sky means something other than a lighting bolt precipitated the interruption. Although only a dozen miles from the state capital power outages occur with frustrating regularity. Amidst the strident BLEEP, BLEEEPPING of my backup battery I click the necessary prompts telling the computer to shut down.
An hour later all the timing devices in the house blink steadily awake and the computer reloads. Handwritten pages in hand, a quick detour to the front porch to rescue one of my cats from the neighbor’s dog who seems to think our front porch is within her chasing territory rouses the rest of the again recently sleeping felines. Pages dropped off in the office and in hopes of being granted some peaceful quiet I provide the cats with 2nd or 3rd lunch, I’ve lost track which. Spraying the trail of ants just beginning their daily trek into the upper reaches of the pantry I realize that the UPS driver must be new. The big brown truck has determinedly thundered by my driveway intent—apparently—upon reaching the dirt road’s dead end less than 25 feet away. By the time he’s backed up to the head of my driveway I’m a waving beacon.
Once inside with my prize, the phone rings again, I remember I’ve forgotten to take out the chicken for dinner and begin wondering what I can substitute with and the eminent necessity of vacuuming wafts in soft fur colonies on the gentle air currents raised by my passage.
Exchanging chore necessity for work mode several more digital pages become filled with black print. Ears now protected by bulging sound thwarting headphones eyes glued to the screen, my mind deep within its preferred fictional world, I fail to notice the thunderstorm until a flash of lighting startles to awareness. Removing the headphones my ears are regaled with the warning precursor gagging of a cat about to vomit. The completion of that task and electricity’s tenuous connection to the house being terminated for the second time occurs simultaneously. Fortunately enough light seeps through the rain clouds to thoroughly clean up the mess before bringing in the newly dampened clothes.